


Shouldn't be a 'Good' in 'Goodbye'

by zeta_leonis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Crying, Crying During Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Goodbye Sex, Hurt No Comfort, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeta_leonis/pseuds/zeta_leonis
Summary: "After the final...let's end this."And everything that happens after.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bananasope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananasope/gifts).



“I want to end this.”

Yuuri doesn’t look up at Victor, he can’t, he knows he’ll cry, and he can’t do that. It’s not like he hasn’t cried in front of Victor before, but he absolutely cannot now.

For a moment that seems to last eons, everything falls silent. There are no cars on the road, there is nobody in the rooms next to them. Yuuri needs to look up at Victor.

The russian is just staring at Yuuri wide eyed, but the other man can’t really read his expression. Is he sad? Angry?

“Okay.” he speaks, breaking the heavy silence. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect it.”

 _That’s it?_ Yuuri thinks. _It’s better than what I could have hoped for…_

“Tell me why, at least.” Victor says. His voice is grim and his eyes are cold.

“You said we’d get married if I won the gold. I’m not going to win it, Victor. I don’t want to be the biggest disappointment in your life.” Yuri speaks heavily. There is a knot in his throat.

Victor nods, but does not make to leave. Instead, he cups Yuri’s chin and tilts his head up so that there is barely any space between them.

“I’ll miss you.” Victor breathes on his lips, warm. “I’ll miss this.”

And then he kisses Yuuri, just to confuse him even more.

It’s not like any kiss they’ve ever shared, it feels so much more intimate, like Victor is trying to suck the life out of Yuuri, reap his soul.

They don’t speak, they don’t say a word, Victor just tugs Yuuri up and presses his hands into his hips hard, too hard for it to be okay, but Yuuri doesn’t say anything.

He can’t, he doesn’t have a right to complain.

Victor pushes him down on the bed, and that’s when they break apart. Their lips are wet, but they don’t say a word. Nothing can ruin this moment, these last few stages of their goodbye, the final pages of the book. Yuuri pulls him down, and they kiss languidly, as lovingly as they can, pouring the last shards of themselves into each other, the last drops of a liquid love that hasn’t run out yet.

Yuuri still loves him, he does, but - _“If you love something, let it go.”_

When they break away the next time, the clothes start coming off slowly. It’s mainly Yuuri’s clothes, since Victor is only in a bathrobe. The russian’s fingers are slow and gentle as he presses open mouthed kisses to his neck, wordlessly whispering his last goodbyes into his skin. Each kiss is a dagger in him, Victor’s fingers dancing on his skin to a melody that warns of his impending doom.

Yuuri whimpers, lifts his arms over his head so that it’s easier for Victor to take off his shirt. Victor moves his mouth down his neck and chest to his nipples. He sucks at them, eliciting small moans from his partner, relishing in them for what they know will be the last time.

Victor keeps going down, pulling down Yuuri’s pants as he kisses at his navel. He nibbles at the inside of Yuuri’s thighs, kissing them softly. He doesn’t want to leave any marks the night before the big competition, but he wishes he could. He knows Yuuri will never forget him, and yet he wants to still leave _something_ for him to remember him by, something personal, something beyond selfies and memories - memories fade.

(Bruises and bite marks too, but Victor feels like it is more personal, and who is anyone to judge him?)

“Victor,” Yuuri gasps when Victor gets close to his cock, and he just _wants_ it, wants all that Victor can give him. Yuuri wants to get drunk on the pleasure so that it drowns out the irregular beat of his heart because it knows it is going to break.

Victor does not say anything, and Yuuri is at a loss as to how to feel about it: on one hand, too many words could ruin this, over thinking (or just thinking in general) could ruin this, a moment build up on a shaky foundation, a house built up on spontaneity and a loss of inhibitions caused by both pain and sorrow; on the other hand, Yuuri wants nothing more than to treasure Victor’s voice, the russian accent he’s grown so fond of, but it is not just his voice—he wants to treasure his _everything,_ the essence of his soul.  

Victor drags Yuuri’s boxers down with his teeth, something hot and insanely sexy, a way to draw out the inevitable just a little longer.

Yuuri’s erection springs up, hot and leaking against his stomach, and he lets out a small whine. Yuuri thinks he sees Victor smirk, but he’s not sure, because then Victor’s mouth is on him, hot and tight and just taking him in one go, stroking what he can’t get to with his fist. Victor sucks like his life depends on it, pulling up until he’s only suckling on the tip before taking Yuuri’s cock so deep the younger skater can feel Victor breathing through his nose on his skin and the head of his cock is pressed against the russian’s throat, feeling it move to accommodate this intrusion.

Yuuri moans, sounding almost like he’s crying. He’s not, not yet.

“Victor -” he warns, and the other man pulls off, getting a small whine of disappointment out of Yuuri that quickly turns into one of pleasure as Victor pours lube onto his fingers and pushes one into his hole slowly. Yuuri gasps, and Victor hesitates until he knows Yuuri is comfortable before continuing.

They can’t decide on the tempo of this, they don’t know if it’s supposed to be fast and rushed, a spur-of-the-moment thing, or something slow and delicate to remember forever, a true embodiment of their love in their last goodbye.

Victor’s got three fingers in Yuuri by now, and Yuuri is on the verge of tears, but they aren’t completely pleasure induced.

“Now, Victor,” Yuuri begs in a whisper. “Do it now.” He’s in no position to make demands when the last thing he’d asked of Victor was to leave, so no, he definitely does not deserve any sort of authority, but Victor seems to agree, so he gets his fingers out of Yuuri. The latter feels sad for the briefest moment, because he knows this is the last time he’ll get to feel these sensations.

Victor leans over Yuuri to reach into his bag to get a condom, but Yuuri stops him by holding his arm and whispering, “No,” firmly.

“No?” Victor asks, frowning. They had never done it without a condom, even though they were both clean. Yuuri was somewhat paranoid about it.

“No.” Yuuri chokes on his next words. “I — I want to feel you.”

Victor says nothing more, and instead chooses to claim Yuuri’s mouth and kiss him deeply, deeper than ever before, taking Yuuri by surprise. He had thought such a level of unbridled passion was unthinkable in a situation such as this, but it is not.

Yuuri expects to be turned over so that Victor doesn’t have to look at him when they do this, when he claims him for the last time, which is why he’s surprised when Victor puts his hands on Yuuri’s hips and pulls him close to the russian.

Victor spreads Yuuri’s legs as if the latter was a blushing virgin, and the older man kneels between his legs, brow furrowed in concentration as he takes his own — until now, ignored — erection in hand.

Yuuri gasps and let his head fall back on the pillows when he feels the head of Victor’s cock pushing into him, burning and unyielding in a good way. Yuuri makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat, and all he can do to hold on to reality is reach up to grasp at Victor’s back as Victor keeps pushing in until he’s in to the hilt. When he’s in all the way, Yuuri pulls him down so that their foreheads are touching, and for the briefest moment, Victor just _breathes_ ; and both their (broken) hearts and (shredded) feelings are contained in that single breath, in the space between them, in the breadth of a hair and the divide between universes.

And then, Victor _moves._

Barely giving Yuuri time to adjust, Victor pulls out almost all the way and then pushes back in, _hard,_ so hard Yuuri rocks back slightly from the force of it. And then he does it again, and again, slowly building it up until their hips are rocking so hard into each other the bed is shaking and slamming against the wall.

But this isn’t what Yuuri wants, not really. He doesn’t want to have sex, not like this.

“Victor, stop.” the japanese man says, and Victor stills immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, worry etched into every one of his features. Goodbyes are bittersweet, but he doesn’t want it to be painful - at least, not in this way.

Yuuri does not reply, just pushes at Victor with his hands on his shoulders until Yuuri is lying atop Victor, and his face is buried in his lover’s shoulder, Victor’s strong arms around his back.

“Like this,” Yuuri says, and he starts to move. It’s slow, so slow, riding Victor in this awkward position, and every move and push of Victor’s cock inside him feels like torture. He’s gasping and whimpering, embarrassing little sounds falling from his mouth, and he isn’t even trying to contain them.

“Oh, Yuuri.” Victor murmurs, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head, to the sides of his face, making Yuuri stop so he can pull him up to kiss the dark haired man tenderly.

Victor rolls them over again, this time kissing his cheeks. Victor starts thrusting again, but this time it’s slower, more intimate, more personal. Victor is also making small little grunting noises, and then he finds Yuuri’s prostate and it’s like a revelation, a whole new world.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers breathlessly, letting his legs fall open just the slightest bit more so that Victor’s cock can slide in just the slightest bit deeper and - “Yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes._ ”

Yuuri wraps his legs around Victor’s hips, pushing him in even farther, and his name is falling from Yuuri’s lips every time he hits his prostate.

“Yuuri,” Victor says then, voice reverent and deep. He stops, and Yuuri whines. The slow pace was tortuous enough but this? Oh, this is hell, but as soon as Yuuri opens his eyes he sees Victor’s deep pools of blue, and he knows it’s serious.

“Victor,” Yuuri manages to say, and he threads a hand through his hair. He’s touching his face, and his eyes are getting glassy. He knows this is the last time he’ll be able to see him like this, the last time he’ll feel like this, and he doesn’t want to let go.

“I love you.” Victor whispers, the blue fire in his eyes burning into Yuuri’s forever. “I love you so much.”

Yuuri is taken aback, but he doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

The _‘Then why are you doing this?’_ goes unspoken, but Yuuri cannot answer.

They kiss again, and Yuuri whispers everything he can’t say properly into Victor’s mouth, traces it with his tongue, because he needs him to know, he needs him to know he’s sorry.

Victor starts moving again, and Yuuri’s sounds get more and more choked until Yuuri sobs, but it isn’t of pleasure.

It’s pain, raw and hot pain, burning him from the inside out, but it isn’t because of anything Victor is doing, and the russian is aware of what it is.

Yuuri can feel the heat of wet tears on his face, but they aren’t his.

“Victor,” Yuuri sobs and moans, never wanting to let go, never wanting this to end. Victor takes a hand from where it’s wrapped around Yuuri’s back and moves it to Yuuri’s cock, stroking him slowly in time with his languid thrusts.

“Yuuri, God -” and Victor’s voice is a chorus of angels, his rough, sex-filled tone making Yuuri’s heart skip a beat.

Yuuri holds on to the moment as he comes hard into Victor’s fist, knowing it will be the last time he does. He sobs, both of pain and grief, and buries his face in Victor’s shoulder.

Victor speeds up just the tiniest bit, and Yuuri kisses his neck and shoulders softly, gently, and then Victor is coming inside Yuuri, filling him with his own cry, a twisted half-groan half-sob.

They stay like that for the longest time, even when Victor’s gone soft.

When Victor pulls out, Yuuri holds back another small sob.

He doesn’t even get dressed. Instead, he watches Victor change from his bed, wrapping the sheets around himself. He’d never tire of this - he never did.

When Victor is done, Yuuri gets up from the bed. He can’t do this, but he must, it is what is right.

All the memories flash before him in this moment, when Victor’s got a hand on the door, about to leave. How they met, their first kiss, their first date, their last one, every single moment shared between them, every second in which Yuuri gave Victor a piece of his heart.

“Victor,” he says, voice strained in the tense silence between them.

Victor turns around and walks towards him with a quickened pace. “Yuuri,” he murmurs, and reaches a hand to cup Yuuri’s cheek, damp with the tears that are still falling.

Victor pulls Yuuri’s head up to kiss him, and from the moment their lips meet, Yuuri knows it’s the last. Their lips move in a practiced manner, both delicate yet intense, so passionate and full of fire Yuuri is afraid it might burn them both; but, if we’re honest, he wouldn’t mind drowning in the flames.

They break away, but they linger around each other, just for a few seconds, both the longest and the shortest ones in their lives.

They never say goodbye, for that kiss said it all. It’s as if they’re afraid of it, that saying the words will actually mean that they will never see each other.

(They know they probably won’t).

Yuuri can’t hear the sound of the hotel door closing over the breaking of his own heart.

  
  
  
  



End file.
